


Country Life

by Keiko Kirin (sakana17)



Category: The Persuaders
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-14
Updated: 2006-07-14
Packaged: 2017-10-03 02:14:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakana17/pseuds/Keiko%20Kirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Danny and Brett escape London for a few days, and that's when things get interesting ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Country Life

Danny reached behind his head and pulled free a particularly long and pointy piece of straw. Eyeing it with distaste, he held it out and let it drop to the barn's floor before casting a look over his shoulder at Brett. Brett was splayed on his side, most un-lord-like, close enough that his knee touched Danny's thigh. A cobweb dangling from the rafters had caught in his hair, a streak of dull grey across the fine auburn.

"Let me ask you something," Danny said, reaching over to pluck the cobweb away. "How many more of these country houses do you have, anyway?" He grimaced as he tried to get the cobweb off one black glove, only to have it transferred to the other.

"Oh, there's the Mediterranean villa," Brett said casually. "And of course the lodge in Scotland--"

"Of course," Danny put in, nodding.

Ignoring him, Brett continued, "--and the cottage in the Lake District, but technically it belongs to my aunt Patterson. Funny story, that," he said, touching a finger to Danny's arm. "She ran off to become an artist when she was seventeen, and her father wanted to disown her, but--"

"Well, listen, Stanley," Danny cut him off, settling back into the straw and rolling his shoulders in a futile attempt not to be completely uncomfortable. "You're not getting me anywhere near those places. You got it?"

"Why, Daniel …" Brett raised his eyebrows. "You're not suggesting I planned this?"

"I'm not suggesting nothing. But every time we come to one of your joints, there's people with guns running around, shady characters lurking in the great hall, pretending to be you …"

"_I_  pretended to be me," Brett protested. "This isn't exactly the peaceful weekend away I had in mind, I assure you." He pulled a piece of straw from Danny's hair, stuck it in his mouth, and chewed on it reproachfully.

"All I'm saying, maybe you should lock the doors sometime, huh?" Danny crossed his arms, shaking his head a little. "I don't get it. Aren't there other peers of the realm these goons could be menacing? Why does it always have to be you?"

When Brett didn't reply, Danny glanced over and saw what he supposed was Brett's pouty look, although with the straw hanging out of his mouth, it was hard to take seriously. He patted Brett's knee. "There, there. It'll be all right. Soon as it's dark, we'll sneak in, get caught, have a couple of fights, and get locked in the wine cellar. But at least we'll know who those creeps are and what's going on."

Brett narrowed his eyes. "There is no wine cellar."

"If it's a dungeon, don't tell me, I don't wanna know." Movement outside the rusty, dirt-encrusted window caught his eye. He patted Brett's knee more purposefully. "Hey, look. Someone's leaving."

Two, no, three figures had left from the front door and gotten into the sedan waiting on the drive. The sun was setting behind the house, shadowing the drive, making it difficult to see details about the car or the men. After a moment, the car drove away. Danny made a move to get up, but Brett caught his arm and pulled him down.

"I counted four men earlier."

"I only saw three," Danny said, but as he said it, a light went on inside the house. "I'm overdue for my eye exam," he joked. Brett kept his hold on Danny's arm, his hand sliding lower, to just below the elbow.

The length of Brett's body was pressed against Danny's side, and Danny flashed on how compromising their arrangement must look. Amused, he smiled to himself and gave Brett's knee a friendly rub. Then he remembered a similar scene in the not-too-distant past, back in Spain, when Brett had been in a barn with … what was her name? Angela. That was it. Angela. Big, soft brown eyes, sleek black hair, perfect skin, curvy hips, and big, soft … He distracted himself from the rekindling surge of sore loser feelings by watching the house carefully.

After a few moments, Brett gave Danny's arm a pat and said, "I think we'd best be moving. It'll be dark soon, and we can easily take the one who remains."

Danny tapped Brett's arm with his knuckles. "I don't know about that. Look."

Another car headed up the drive and parked in front of the house. It was a lighter color than the sedan, and four people got out, approached the door, and were let inside. A couple of the new arrivals carried cases, but it was impossible to get a good look at their size and shape.

"Ah," said Brett, losing his enthusiasm. He looked at Danny, the quirk of his eyebrow just visible in the barn's gloom. "Shall we wait until the lights go out?"

Danny grinned and touched Brett's chin. "Oh, great minds think alike." He gestured at their surroundings -- the enormous pile of straw pillowing them, the rotting ladder down to the barn's floor, which was strewn with more straw and dusty farm tools that looked like they came from the B.C. era of the Sinclairs. "Besides, we have all the mod cons here. Hot and cold running spiders. A fiber diet," he said, picking up a piece of straw and chewing the end. He immediately spat it out and grinned again. "What's good enough for Angela is good enough for me."

"Angela?" Brett asked blankly.

"Yeah, you know, Angela." After a pause which convinced Danny that Brett wasn't joking around -- and this only annoyed him more -- Danny elaborated, "Angela of the brown eyes, ruby lips, and protective father who from some miracle didn't notice the hay stuck to the back of her dress. Angela," he repeated. "Spain. You gotta remember Spain. Little country next to France?"

"Ah, Angela," Brett said slowly, a wistful smile in his voice.

Danny's sore loser feelings returned with a vengeance. "Yeah," he said flatly. "Angela."

"Oh, my dear Daniel, you're not still bringing her up? Am I to help it if the young lady preferred me?"

Daniel had to admit that Brett had a point. Placated, he shook his head, and his temple brushed against Brett's nose.

"No, no, you're right. She did prefer you. Probably fell under the spell of those blue eyes, wondering if they were actually grey. Or decided she liked your broad shoulders and classic athletic build. Or caught a glimpse of your well-turned legs." Sometime, without noticing it, Danny had started rubbing one of those legs, near the knee. "Or heard the way you said her name, softly …"

"Why, Daniel …"

"Yeah, like that," Danny agreed absently, newly aware of Brett's hand on his arm and the leg pressed next to his and the breath falling on his cheek. He turned toward it, but it was too dark now to see Brett clearly. Brett moved a little, but not away, and his hand slid forward until his arm was lightly wrapped around Danny's waist.

Speaking now into Brett's breath -- his face was very close, Danny could tell, just a shade away from touching -- Danny went on, "Or she watched your lips and wondered what it would be like to kiss them, wondered how they felt …"

"Daniel," Brett said again, very softly, and his breath met Danny's until their lips touched.

Was this the way Brett had kissed Angela, Danny wondered. As gentle as this kiss was, there was a restlessness beyond it, a hint of something longing to get out behind Brett's restraint. Intrigued, curious, and possibly a little turned on, Danny tried to invite that something to come on out. He ran his fingers through Brett's hair, wishing he'd thought to remove his gloves first, and deepened the kiss.

Brett broke from the kiss, but not too quickly, and he didn't pull away. He seemed to be waiting for something, and at that moment, Danny would have welcomed the straw catching on fire if it meant he'd have enough light to see Brett's face. Lacking that, he went with his instincts and drew Brett into another kiss, a nice warm soft kiss, but still accented with whatever it was Brett was holding back.

When they parted from the kiss, Danny was unable to resist the temptation and said, "So, does this count as a roll in the hay? Because I've never heard of a roll in the straw."

"Daniel," Brett said with an air of long suffering. But he kissed him again, a kiss that was just starting to get more interesting when Brett pulled back and tensed.

"Hey …" Danny rubbed the nape of Brett's neck to draw him back.

"Shhh." Brett shifted over Danny to get next to the window. Danny, now on the alert, followed, holding on as he steadied himself to see outside over Brett's shoulder.

The second car drove away, but they hadn't seen how many people had gone with it. The lights inside gradually went out. Brett and Danny waited a couple of minutes before carefully going down the ladder. When Danny missed his footing on the final step, Brett caught him, gave him a reassuring pat on the back, and they left the barn. Hunkering down, they crossed the grounds and gravel drive at a quick pace, and Danny kept one hand on Brett's back so he wouldn't lose his way. The only shapes he could make out were trees and the vaguely squarish lump he supposed was the house.

When Brett stopped, Danny bumped into him and stayed close. They made their way along the front of the house, pausing uselessly to look inside darkened windows, until Brett stopped at the door. Danny heard a metallic creak, and Brett whispered, puzzled, "The door's unlocked."

"See what I mean?" Danny whispered back. "You British with your unlocked doors. No wonder you get more people coming through here than Ellis Island."

"Than what?" Brett asked. More creaking as Brett opened the door, and Danny followed him inside, hand on Brett's shoulder.

"Than Ellis … Never mind."

They stood in the entrance hall. From what little Danny could make out, it was the typical Sinclair style, all dark wood, a large staircase, and walls decorated with implements of warfare from the ages. Cozy. He walked over to one wall, took his glove off, and ran his hand along the wood. His fingers tripped over a round button protuding from the wall. Without thinking twice, he pressed it.

The lights hanging from the ceiling were shaped like lanterns, but the way they'd blazed into life was proof enough that they were electric. The whole entryway came into sharp focus, from the staircase leading to the upper floor, to the giant Sinclair coat of arms carved into the wall opposite, to Brett standing in frozen panic at the foot of the stairs, his arms raised protectively over his head.

Seeing it was Danny who'd turned on the lights, he grimaced and made some flapping motions Danny guessed meant to turn the lights off. Which he was just about to do when he heard a soft thud and a loud creak from upstairs, and his survival instincts told him to abandon the light switch and head for cover. He dove behind Brett and flattened himself against the wall that ran along the side of the staircase. Brett pushed him further down and joined him.

There were light footsteps overhead. They stopped and a young male voice asked worriedly, "Who's there?" A pause, then one footstep down, taking a step.

Danny glanced at Brett. Brett returned the glance, looking very puzzled.

"Who is it?" the voice asked, taking another step.

Brett craned his neck around to risk a look. "Robert?" he said, stepping backward to get a better view and stumbling. Danny grabbed his elbow just in time, and they both stood looking up at the slender young man in pajama bottoms, wielding an ankle boot threateningly.

"Sin? Sin!" The man dropped the boot and scrambled downstairs, beaming.

"'Sin'?" Danny repeated, looking curiously at Brett, but Brett was too busy shaking hands and patting Robert on the shoulders to respond.

"Robert, this is my good friend Danny Wilde. Daniel, this is my cousin Robert."

"Bobby," the young man said, shaking Danny's hand and smiling happily.

"Pleased to meet you," Danny said pleasantly into the crossfire of chatter between Brett and Robert. He was about to interrupt when a young female voice said from the stairs, "Bobby?"

Wielding the other ankle boot was a gorgeous chick, one of those doe-eyed chestnut-haired lovelies the English cornered the market on, and she was dressed in a clinging thin robe that revealed all too easily that this was the only thing she was wearing.

Bobby turned and held out a hand toward her, inviting her down, but the chick was either too modest or too wary, and she stayed put, though she lowered the menacing boot. "Sin, this is Cynthia, my fiancée," he introduced reverently, his eyes never leaving her. Cynthia blushed and smiled at him, and for a moment Brett and Danny might as well have been on the moon for all those two lovebirds cared. Then Cynthia seemed to notice them again, and gave Bobby a couple of meaningful nods of her head, prompting him.

"Oh! This is cousin Sin -- I mean, Brett. Brett Sinclair."

Brett smiled charmingly at the young lady, a dazzling smile full of his appreciation of her loveliness, and Danny's estimation of her rose even higher when she didn't take notice. Her look at Brett was strictly polite curiosity; she only had eyes for Bobby.

"And this is his friend Danny. Danny--?"

"Wilde," Danny said, stepping forward and bowing exaggeratedly to her. "A pleasure to meet you, lovely Cynthia."

Cynthia giggled softly, but he saw that his own charm was having even less effect than Brett's. Bobby was one lucky guy.

Introductions over, tension defused, danger gone, the three men settled in the study where Brett poured them all brandy, and Cynthia returned to bed. Bobby had barely taken a sip of brandy before he was glancing at the ceiling with the same look of reverence, very obviously longing to return to bed, too. Danny couldn't blame him.

But first, Brett wanted some answers, and Danny admitted to himself that he'd sleep easier tonight if he knew for certain this was all as innocent (well, relatively innocent) as it seemed.

"I saw four men about the place earlier," Brett said. "They'd arrived in a black sedan. One of them was you, apparently -- I wish I'd recognised you -- but who were the others?"

Bobby brought his attention back to Brett and Danny. "That was Jack and Mel, and Mel's brother. They took me out last night, one last night of freedom, you know," Bobby said sheepishly. "I was in no fit state to drive here after that, so they brought me."

"But why here?" asked Brett. "You're always welcome, of course, but I had no word of it. I didn't even know you were getting married."

Bobby lowered his eyes and toyed with his brandy glass. "I apologise for that, Sin. You see, Cynthia and I are eloping. My parents … Well, you know what my mother is like. And her father wants her to wait until she's twenty, but that's _months_ away. We just couldn't wait that long, and I thought, since this place is on the way to Scotland, we could meet here. I'm sorry I didn't tell you, Sin. I was afraid it might get about the family somehow. But I know you'd never tell, so I … I just …"

"Don't worry, kid," Danny said, patting Bobby's arm. "We can see how it is. Right, Brett?"

Brett smiled softly. "Yes, I see how it is. But tell me, the other car that arrived -- who were they?"

"Cynthia and her sisters. Her sister's husband drove them. Her sisters are all on our side. They brought our suitcases. After the wedding, we're going to Paris." Bobby's cheeks flushed red. "Cynthia said she's always wanted to have her honeymoon in Paris."

"The perfect place," Brett agreed, taking a sip of brandy. "All my questions are answered. How about you, Daniel? Any questions for Robert?"

Danny smiled at Bobby. "Me? Oh, no. No questions here. I think it's time we let the kid get back to the lovely Cynthia, don't you?"

Bobby barely waited for Brett's agreement before bolting from the chair and running back upstairs. Brett chuckled softly, finished his brandy, and lifted Bobby's glass, which had barely been touched. Danny moved to join him on the sofa, sitting so their arms touched, and raised his glass.

"Here's to lovebirds," he said, clinking his glass against Brett's.

"To lovebirds," Brett agreed.

\-------

_Ah, to be nineteen and in love_, Danny thought later that night, as he listened to the steady clunking against the wall behind his bed, the wall dividing his guest room from Bobby and Cynthia's. Cute kids.

Cute kids with stamina, he thought a little while later, giving up on getting to sleep any time soon. He rolled onto his side, yawned, closed his eyes, and his thoughts meandered backwards from lovely Cynthia in her see-through robe to Brett holding him in the barn, in that awful straw, kissing him. And that was a nice thing to think of. He'd enjoyed that. He'd like to enjoy more of that. He wondered if Brett was still awake.

On second thought, better not go find out. With his luck in Sinclair houses, he'd get locked in the attic, or fall down a well. Not that there were any wells inside the house, but it was just the type of improbable thing that tended to happen any time he and Brett tried to escape the smog of London for the fresh air of the English countryside. Maybe they should go back to Paris next time they wanted a change of scenery.

_Honeymoon in Paris_, Danny thought, amused and sleepy, finally drifting off despite the clunking.

The morning was busy with breakfast, good-byes and wish-you-wells before Bobby and Cynthia were safely off to Gretna Green in an ancient Rolls Bobby borrowed from Brett's garage. Danny was surprised the thing even churned to life, and spent half the day expecting the kids to come back, the car having sputtered out its dying last a mile or so up the road.

Brett was pleased and relaxed, going around the place to hunt up various forgotten treasures, sometimes bending Danny's ear off with long explanations of their history and nostalgic worthiness, other times lapsing into a private silence that not even Danny's forthright questioning could pierce. Although Brett was his usual self, as the day wore on, it became clear to Danny that they were not going to mention -- or repeat -- yesterday's roll in the straw.

_Ah, well. Fair enough_, he thought with mild disappointment. He didn't know as much about Brett as he would've liked to, and yesterday's kiss had been as unexpected as it had been welcome. He couldn't -- or wouldn't -- speculate on the restlessness he had sensed in Brett. Maybe it was just the adrenaline from the danger they'd thought they were in. Or maybe it hadn't been there at all.

In the afternoon they drove into town for groceries, and by the time they'd finished Brett's version of a rustic dinner -- a venison pie he'd purchased from the cook at the local pub and a bottle of wine -- Danny was content to let go. He wouldn't forget the roll in straw. In fact, he'd happily go to sleep remembering it for many nights to come. But he wasn't going to pursue Brett, because Brett was right here, and they were together, and this was nice. Danny liked this, had liked it from the first day, and without thinking too much about it, had never made any plans to go back to New York and leave this. New York was still home: the place was in his bones, no way it would never be home, and because of that, he didn't feel adrift when he drifted from place to place. Especially not when he drifted with Brett.

So all in all, Danny was happy, and they were together, and everything was hunky-dory. They were actually spending time in a country house without people trying to kill them. All was right with the world.

Then night came, and Danny went to bed.

The kids, he thought at first, inwardly groaning that his prediction about the decrepit Rolls had come true. But as he waited and listened, he knew it was not the kids. The kids hadn't snuck back, and the sound he was hearing wasn't the sound of enthusiastic lovemaking. No, what it sounded like were heavy footfalls above him, followed by a raspy, dragging sound. Like the sound someone dragging a dead body might make.

At that thought, he switched on the lamp and stared at the ceiling. Was there an attic? He tried to remember Brett's two-cent tour of the house, couldn't recall anything about an attic. But there were always attics in joints like these. Attics teaming with murderers dragging dead bodies around. Right above his head.

Danny didn't consider himself a coward, he was just prudent. It was prudent to find out if there were murderers in the attic. You wouldn't want them to come downstairs and surprise you, after all. And it was prudent to go find Brett first, because Brett knew how to get into the attic, Danny told himself as he wandered the hallway, wrapped in a blanket.

He found Brett's room on the other end of the house with the door left open. Very inviting for murderers. He'd have to have a word with Brett about that. Moonlight came in through the window, revealing a heavy four-poster bed with pulled-back curtains. Brett was face down in the pillows, one arm hanging limply to the floor, and the only reassurance Danny had that murderers hadn't already got to him was that Brett was snoring.

"Hey, Brett," Danny said, going over to the bed. No response. He bent close to Brett's ear. "Your Lordship? It's me, Danny." He laid a hand on Brett's shoulder, covered in striped pajamas, and shook it gently, not expecting much reaction.

Brett jerked awake and sat up, gulping and rubbing his eyes. He fumbled for the lamp and blinked stupidly at Danny.

"Daniel?" Stupid quickly turned to annoyance. "What on earth are you doing? It's the middle of the night."

"Yeah, well, tell that to them," Danny said defensively, holding the blanket more tightly around himself. This room was drafty.

"'Them'? Who are 'they'?" Brett paused. "You don't mean to tell me that Robert and Cynthia--"

"No, no," Danny interrupted. "It's not the lovebirds. At least I hope not. It's murderers. In the attic. And a dead body or two."

Brett stared at him as if he'd lost his mind. He ran a hand over his face and through his hair, which was sticking up in odd places. Running his hand through it made it stick up even more. Pretty cute, Danny noted distractedly. A new thought occurred to him.

"Or ghosts. Is this place haunted? What I am saying, of course it's haunted. It's an English country house, it's gotta be haunted. Hundreds of generations of Sinclairs torturing the servants, or dipping into the sherry and killing off the heirs …"

"Daniel. Please. What are you on about?"

"The noises in the attic. Above my bed." He hunched his back and narrowed his eyes. "Thud. Thud. Thud. Just like Quasimodo. Then drag, drag, drag. Just like a murderer dragging a corpse." He straightened up, clutching the blanket, rather proud of his imitation.

"Oh, that'll be the roof tiles," Brett said airily, lying back. "It's rather windy tonight, and some of them are loose." He waved a dismissive hand. "Go back to bed, Daniel."

Danny pointedly sat down on the edge of the bed and fixed Brett with his gaze. He was prepared for this argument. "Roof tiles don't _drag_, your highness. I don't think they thud, either. You're sure this place isn't haunted?"

Brett opened his mouth to deny it, but paused and slid his jaw to one side, frowning. "Well, there were rumours about Uncle Theobald and Aunt Priscilla, but I never believed them."

"Ah ha. See, what did I tell you?" Danny said, nodding.

"But this is ridiculous, Daniel. There's no such thing as ghosts. Even if there were, why would they be keeping you awake? I'm the Sinclair." Brett yawned and sank deeper into the bed.

"Well, let me tell ya, you can ask them that when you go up to the attic. And I'm staying right here. No ghosts here? This is the place for me, brother."

"I am not going into the attic," Brett said firmly, pulling the bedcovers higher.

Danny wrapped the blanket around tighter. "Well, I'm not going back to my haunted room."

"Please yourself." Brett smiled thinly. "Pick any room you want."

Danny looked at Brett happily. "Yeah? Then I pick this one. Nice and quiet here." He bounced once on the bed, ignoring Brett's muttered, "Not tonight it isn't." "Nice bed. Scoot over."

Brett's eyes widened. "Are you really suggesting that I let you sleep here? In my bed?"

"This room feels safe to me, I can't explain it. You said I could have any room."

"And where am I to sleep?"

Danny smiled indulgently at him. "You can stay here," he said generously. "Plenty of room for two. If you scoot over."

Brett blinked once or twice. "You're sharing my bed?"

"Yeah, sure, why not?"

Brett paused, sighed dramatically, and moved aside, grumbling, "I suppose this is the only way to get you to shut up."

Danny stood and let his blanket drop, and pulled back the bedcovers. Brett stared wide-eyed at him. "Daniel. What …?"

"What?" Danny blinked, not immediately understanding why Brett was gaping like a nervous fish. "Oh, don't let this bother you. I always sleep naked," he said, climbing into bed and sinking into the warm, comfortable mattress. This was way better than that miserable old haunted room. "My swami recommended it. Says it's good for the skin."

"The same swami who told you to stand on your head?" Brett asked icily.

"Yeah, why? You know him?" The bed was even warmer near the center, by Brett. Danny slid closer, and Brett reached across him to switch off the lamp.

"I just hope you don't snore," Brett said.

Danny yawned and settled on his side. Brett's shoulder touched his back. "I doubt you'll be able to hear it over your own snoring."

He was comfortable and warm, and he liked being here with Brett. He wasn't going to think beyond that right now. Besides, he was tired, ready for sleep, which hovered very close in the quiet dark.

Then Brett said, "I didn't know you were Jewish."

Danny opened his eyes, blinked at the night, for once at a loss for a wisecrack reply. He was too intrigued by the fact that Brett had bothered to look.

"But you eat ham," Brett pointed out, as if arguing.

"I like ham. Ham's good. Bacon's even better." Danny reached back, fingers finding something to pat, probably a thigh, and said, "Just don't tell my Aunt Sadie, okay?"

"I wouldn't dream of it," Brett said quietly, in a tone of voice Danny couldn't quite decipher. Danny thought he could mull over that tone for voice for a while, trying to figure it out, but Brett was silent, and he was comfortable and warm here in bed with Brett, and before he knew it, he was asleep.

\----------

If they were not going to mention the roll in the straw, then, Danny figured the next morning at breakfast, they were definitely not going to mention the cuddle in bed. It wasn't exactly a cuddle, but he had certainly woken up with Brett's arm around him, and Brett's body pressed against his back. When Danny had moved a little, stretching his arm to get the circulation back, Brett's hold had tightened, and his hand indisputably had been rubbing Danny's belly.

Maybe it hadn't been an intentional, planned cuddle, but it had gotten a bit of a response, which, if Brett's hand had moved lower, he might have noticed. Of course, had his hand moved lower, the response would have been … more of a response. And Danny wasn't certain what would have happened then. As it was, after staying comfortably like that for a while, Danny had stretched and sat up with large waking-up gestures, giving Brett the opportunity to make it look like an accident of sleep. But Brett had simply shifted onto his back, watched Danny through sleepy eyes, and not said a word.

Beyond a few pleasantries over the eggs, coffee, and ham, Brett still hadn't said much, but other than an occasional lack of attention, which wasn't something uncommon with Brett, Danny hadn't noticed anything different or awkward.

"Any more?" Brett offered from the kitchen door, holding up a toast rack in one hand and a plate of ham in the other. He looked fetching in his apron.

"No, thanks." Danny finished off a cup of wretched coffee, winced while the aftertaste settled, and rose from the dining table. "I'll help with the dishes," he said, picking up his plates and following Brett into the kitchen. "That reminds me, where is everyone? Don't you keep anyone around the place, like old Moorehead at Greensleeves?"

"There's only old Harwood here," Brett said, untying the apron and draping it over a tall-backed wooden chair. He took the plates from Danny's hands and set them into the sink. "But he's … away."

Danny noticed the hesitation. "Oh, yeah?" He nudged Brett over and turned on the faucet. Brett reached across him and turned it off. "Away how?" Danny asked, turned the spigot again. "He's not locked in the attic, is he? Murdering people and dragging them around?"

"Will you stop that?" said Brett irritably, reaching out again and firmly turning the water off. "Leave the washing for later. I have other plans for today."

"Oh?" Danny raised his eyebrows and turned around, right into Brett's face and the broad expanse of his shoulders and the steady rise and fall of his chest. Danny lowered his eyelids halfway -- a look known to devastate pretty young things -- and asked suggestively, "What kind of plans?"

Brett, disappointingly undevastated, smiled smugly, and Danny had to catch his breath from the bright, fresh, predatory look in Brett's eyes. "Come with me and find out."

Danny forgot all about the dishes.

Brett's plans for the day, however, seemed to consist of walking the grounds. Not that it wasn't nice. It was a beautiful morning, still misty in places, sunlight coming through in others, and there was a crisp clean smell in the air. The chilly breeze reddened Brett's cheeks, nicely complimenting the dark green jacket he wore. Danny inwardly sighed over misreading Brett's signals, hooked his arm through Brett's, and enjoyed the morning as they walked companionably down to the stables.

Ah ha, Danny thought as they approached. Maybe he hadn't been wrong after all. Stables. Hay. Maybe Brett had some weird British fetish for straw. Whatever it was, Danny wasn't going to complain. He rubbed his gloves together as Brett went inside first.

When Danny reached the stable door, Brett was leading a horse from its box, patting its neck and smiling affectionately at it. A young stable hand led another outside, and a stable boy lifted a saddle from its wall hook.

"The perfect morning for a ride," Brett said pleasantly to Danny, beaming as he led the mare out of the stable. "This is Penelope. She's young, but very kind and forgiving. Just your type, I believe."

Danny flicked a glance at Brett, muffling his response. Penelope looked nice. He hoped she was nice. He walked up to her, rubbed her nose and whispered to her, "Be gentle, kid, okay?" The stable boy saddling her gave him a sidelong look, and Danny stuck out his jaw, took a breath, and stepped into a stirrup. He easily threw his other leg over her, and was adjusting to the saddle when Brett took her rein and looked up at him.

"You have ridden before, haven't you, Daniel?"

Once, Danny would have wanted to smack that insufferable smile right off Brett's face. Now, he could think of other things he'd like to do, but he had to be content with grabbing the rein from Brett's hands.

"Of course I have." He wasn't going to tell Brett how many times or how long ago or what had happened the last time.

"Very well," said Brett with a little amused nod, taking a few steps to get a better look. "It's just that your seat--"

"No comments about my seat, thank you. I'm not that kind of girl," Danny said primly. "And neither is Penelope. Isn't that right, honey?" He leaned forward and rubbed her neck.

"No comments," Brett agreed, patting Danny's tush.

Danny sat up straight and looked over his shoulder, and as he did so his heels moved inward, which was all Penelope needed, and then they were off. Not too fast. Not fast enough to escape Brett's easy laughter following them.

\-------

"More hot water."

"My dear Daniel. Honestly--"

"More hot water."

Brett looked chastened -- not chastened enough -- and dutifully poured another kettle of hot water into the old clawfoot tub.

Danny hissed a little as the heat made contact, then relaxed and sank lower, wriggling his spine and toes and hips, into the best substitute for a hot tub this dank old English house could muster. Brett rolled up one sleeve, knelt down and dipped his elbow in the water.

"Hot enough yet?" he asked mildly.

Danny frowned at him. "It's not a baby's bottle."

Brett raised an eyebrow and wiped his elbow on his apron. Danny relented. It was impossible to be mad at Brett when he was wearing that ridiculous apron.

"It's all right." Danny stretched his arms and rolled his shoulders. Brett handed him a glass of brandy.

Danny took a sip, watching Brett through lowered eyelids. Brett sat on the floor next to the tub, lighting a cigar. "It's all right," Danny repeated slowly. "In fact, I could get used to this."

Brett regarded him through a thin haze of smoke and smiled softly. "Then I am forgiven?"

Danny waved it off. "Far as I'm concerned, it never happened. Penelope, though … You'll have to take that up with her."

Brett puffed on his cigar. "I do wish you'd said something, Danny," he said apologetically, with big, naughty-but-contrite schoolboy eyes. Danny took a quick sip of brandy and swallowed hard.

"It wasn't all bad," he said truthfully. "The first part was fun. All of it until …"

"Yes." Brett lowered his eyes. "I am sorry about that."

"I know." Danny reached out and patted Brett's knee. "I know."

Brett looked at him for a long moment, very still, cigar raised midway. Danny let his hand rest on Brett's knee. There was a certain charge in the air, mingling with the smoke and steam and the smell of brandy. Danny slid his hand lower, casually, as if letting it fall down Brett's thigh of its own accord. Brett didn't move, didn't even tense, but Danny thought he could detect beads of sweat above his lips. He was about to cast his hand lower, risk it with a winner-take-all gamble, when Brett lifted his cigar, took a deep puff, and stood up.

Perfectly poised and unrattled, Brett stood in the doorway and said, "Well, I'd better get to those dishes. Before all the water's used up," he added pointedly.

"What, you're not going to stay and scrub my back?" Danny called after him, not wanting to admit that he'd been hoping for that very thing.

Brett had disappeared when Danny emerged from the tub, nicely warm, not as achy, and pleasantly drowsy. He remembered Brett saying something during their morning walk about going into town later, so he dressed up, intending to dazzle the locals. Wide awake by the time he'd finished adjusting his jacket just so, he wondered where Brett had gotten to.

"If he's fallen down a well, I'm leaving him there," he muttered to a Sinclair portrait in passing.

He checked all the rooms on both floors, to his dismay finding the entrance to the attic instead of finding Brett. After a circuit of the house in waning sunlight, he stood in the entryway, hands on hips, tapping his foot and looking up. The only place left was the attic.

"All right, you," he said, shaking a fist at the ceiling. He looked around the room, grabbed a sword from the wall, tested its weight and put it back. There was a rapier on the opposite wall. He plucked this up, waved it experimentally through the air, and went to the staircase. He paused at the top and yelled, "If you're murdering Brett, you better stop it." He went down the hallway, raising the rapier. "It's okay, sweetie. I'm on my way," he called ahead.

"Daniel? What _are_ you doing?"

Brett's voice came from below. Danny retraced his steps and peered down from the balustrade. "I'm saving you." He lifted the rapier and pointed to it.

"Thank you, Daniel, but as you can see, I don't need saving." Brett took off his coat, draped it over a chair, and picked up a large wicker basket from the floor.

"Hey, are we going on a picnic?" Danny asked, sliding sidesaddle down the banister and jumping deftly into the entryway in front of Brett.

"Will you put that thing back?" Brett gingerly pushed the rapier away. "And it's a little late for a picnic, don't you think?"

"Oh, I don't know," Danny said, fitting the rapier back on its mount. "Haven't you ever had a cozy little picnic for two in the moonlight? Very romantic."

"There is no moonlight until there's a moon," Brett said reasonably, taking the basket into the kitchen. Danny followed him. "I thought we'd dine in tonight," Brett explained, lifting plate after plate of still-hot food from the basket. "After such a busy day." He smiled and held up a bottle of wine triumphantly, then raked his gaze over Danny.

"Oooo, is this duck?" Danny said, ignoring him and dipping a fingertip into the sauce.

"Pheasant, actually." Brett brushed his fingertip away with one finger. "Why are you dressed like a cabaret act?"

"What, this old thing?" Danny twirled around and did a couple of dance steps. "You said we were going out, and I thought I'd give the local girls something to tell their grandkids. You like it?"

Brett's eyes swept over him again, without visible reaction. "Very … colorful." He turned his attention to opening the wine bottle. "It suits you. Is that velvet?"

Danny swiped his palm over his thigh a couple of times, playing with the nap. "Sure is." He held out his leg. "Have a feel."

Brett cast him a sidelong look. "No, thank you. I'll take your word for it." The cork popped from the bottle and landed in the sink.

"So you brought all this for me? For us?" Danny asked, lifting the covers off the plates.

"I thought you'd be tired after your bath. But if you'd rather go out--"

Danny dipped his finger into the sauce and licked it off with a smile. "No, no. Let's stay here."

Brett stared at him, and after a pause said through a wavering smile, "Yes. Let's."

The dining table could seat fourteen comfortably, but Danny chose to sit at Brett's elbow, enjoying the pheasant, the wine, and the way Brett's knee bumped against his. After a quiet beginning, the end of the meal, after a second bottle had been emptied, was spent listening to Brett's old family stories and some of the more surprising gossip from town. Danny had no idea who any of these characters were, but he was happy listening to Brett's refined, mellow voice.

After dinner, they left the plates to soak in the water, having no enthusiasm for washing up, and retired to the study. Brett poured two large brandies, lit his cigar, and sank into the sofa. Danny sank next to him and swirled his brandy meditatively. The drowsiness he'd felt after his bath had snuck over him again, and he figured it had snuck into Brett, as well, from the way Brett was leaning on him.

"Tired?" Danny asked, taking a sip of brandy.

"Mm." Brett leaned over more, rather heavily. His glass and cigar tipped precariously.

Danny set his glass aside, retrieved Brett's and the cigar and put them out of harm's reach, and tugged on Brett's shoulders, gently leading him down. "Well, you just rest here, honey." He guided Brett's head to his lap and patted his hair.

"Mm, this _is_ velvet," Brett murmured sleepily, rubbing his cheek on Danny's thigh.

"That's right, that's right," Danny said. He stroked Brett's hair back from his face, and kept stroking it, discovering little curled ends on the back of his neck.

Brett's sigh turned into slow, soft breathing, and Danny's hand stilled, resting in Brett's hair. Danny closed his eyes, thinking he could sleep here like this, this would be a very nice way to fall asleep.

"Daniel."

Danny opened his eyes, blinking awake. Brett was still resting on his lap, but he was looking up, watching Danny with a bemused, sleepy look.

"I think we'd better retire to bed, hadn't we?"

Danny didn't think he'd ever heard less innuendo in an invitation to bed in his life, but he was too generally contented by Brett's closeness and company to be disappointed. He smiled and touched a finger to Brett's nose.

"Oh, yes. By all means, your Lordship."

Without mentioning it, without asking first -- certainly without asking first -- Danny assumed they would be sharing again. For one thing, he wasn't going back to the cold haunted room under the murderers in the attic. So after stripping, brushing his teeth, and standing on his head in the guest bathroom, he made his way to Brett's room, closed the door behind him, and climbed into bed next to Brett, who registered little to no surprise. Brett leaned across him to switch off the lamp, but drew back slowly. Reluctantly? Danny decided to find out, once and for all.

He caught Brett's hand and twined their fingers together. Brett paused. "Danny," he said very softly, his breath brandied warmth.

Danny followed the warmth to his lips and kissed him, willing him to respond. Anything -- well, almost anything -- would be better than not knowing if this was welcome.

Brett let go of Danny's hand, clutched his shoulders and pulled him into a crushing kiss. That answered that question, Danny thought, wrapping his arms around Brett and deepening the kiss. And about time, too.

The restlessness Danny had sensed in the barn had been real, and now it was coming out, all of it. Brett wasn't going to let him go -- and Danny was okay with that, although this was making it difficult to get Brett out of his pajama top -- and Brett wasn't going to stop kissing him. He was like a drowning man gulping for air, or a starving man grabbing for food. After the initial surge of response, Danny felt a little overwhelmed. He stroked Brett's hair and shoulders, and softened the kiss, taming whatever it was he'd let loose.

"Mm," Brett murmured, breaking the kiss to nuzzle Danny's neck.

Danny wasn't big on nuzzling, but there was something charming about the way Brett did it. He ran his hands over the broad, bare expanse of Brett's back.

"I gotta ask. What took you so long, huh? Not that I'm complaining, but …"

"What are you on about?" Brett said against Danny's cheek, following the question with a kiss.

"I'm talking about you. Us. This. Did you think I was kidding about the roll in the straw?" Danny ran his hand up Brett's shoulder to his chin, held it and kissed it.

"Why, Daniel." Brett shifted a little, raising up on one elbow. He draped his other arm across Danny's chest. "You mean you didn't know? You didn't suspect?"

"Didn't suspect what?" Danny asked, suddenly suspicious.

"Why else do you think I sent Harwood away? Why do you think I was so affronted when we thought my house had been invaded? Why do you think I was so eager to send Bobby and Cynthia on their way?" Brett's voice was amused. He planted a gentle kiss on Danny's shoulder.

Danny absently rubbed Brett's back, considering. "Are you telling me, you brought me down here to seduce me?"

"Well, I wouldn't have put it that way, exactly, but … yes." Brett nuzzled him again, and Danny decided he was going to rethink his position on nuzzling. He tilted his head to offer up more neck.

"But … Where was all the seducing? What was with all the reserve and restraint?"

"Restraint?" Brett said, laughing. "I could barely control myself. Especially …" Brett paused to kiss the curve of Danny's neck. "… especially when you turned up tonight in velvet."

Danny slid his fingers into Brett's hair. "Oh ho. You liked the velvet, huh?"

"I _loved_ the velvet," Brett purred.

"I'm going to keep that in mind," Danny promised, the fact already tidily filed away for future -- near future -- reference. "You could wear more velvet yourself, let me tell ya. But I still don't get it. Why control yourself in the first place?"

Brett kissed Danny's cheek. "There's such a thing as courtship."

"Courtship?!" Danny laughed. "Oh, brother." He ran his hands through Brett's hair and tilted his head to kiss Brett's forehead.

"Daniel. I'm a peer of the realm," Brett said stiffly, as if this explained it all.

"Yeah? So? And I'm a tough from the Bronx." Danny rubbed their noses, eskimo-kiss-style.

"Yes, but you're _my_ tough from the Bronx," Brett said warmly, taking him in his arms and giving him a slow delicious kiss.

"Mm," Danny said a while later, contentedly emerging from the kiss. "I gotta tell you, though, this was the stealthiest seduction in history. Next time, you could give a guy some clues."

"I thought I was," Brett said. "My interest was quite obvious. This morning, for example, when you came down to breakfast, I couldn't take my eyes off you. Surely you noticed? And then I struck upon the idea of riding … Seeing you on a horse …" His voice went a little dry.

Danny tapped a finger on Brett's shoulder. "Wait. Wait a minute. You mean all of that with me and Penelope, that was just so you could watch me on a horse?"

"Well …" Brett hesitated, adding in a chastened tone, "I had no idea you couldn't ride."

"Horses," Danny said, pulling him closer and writhing a little. "I can't ride horses. Other things …"

"Oh. Oh, my …" Brett said into their kiss, melting into Danny's embrace, and as things were getting interesting, he said again, "Oh. Oh, wait. What was that?"

Danny lazily skimmed his fingernails along Brett's back. "Baby, if you don't know what that is, do I have a thing or two to show you," he drawled.

"Oh, Daniel, I'm serious. I thought I heard something." He sat up a little.

Danny was about to pull him back down, when he heard it, too. Footsteps downstairs. A creaking in the room below them.

"The lovebirds?" he asked.

"I don't think so," Brett said worriedly, sitting up and pulling on his pajamas. Danny narrowed his eyes at the dark, at the world in general, and shook his fist as he sat up, too. Downstairs there were some muffled voices, and a clink of glass against metal.

"I think it's burglars," Brett stage-whispered unnecessarily. 

"Unless it's the murderers, escaped from your attic," Danny whispered back.

Brett shushed him and opened the door. He looked around for a weapon, choosing an empty water jug that had probably come with the house. Danny watched in alarm as Brett took a step out of the room.

"Hey," he whispered. "Brett. Your Lordship. Ssssst."

Brett stepped back, annoyed. "What?"

Danny got out of bed. "I may love you, kid, but I am not going down there naked to fight off a bunch of burglars."

Brett paused. "Oh." He glanced about, picked up a robe from the chair and tossed it to Danny. "Sorry."

Robe firmly tied around his waist, Danny hunted in the room and retrieved a heavy pewter candlestick from the mantel. He wielded it a couple of times, testing it, and followed Brett into the hallway.

The burglars downstairs didn't seem like pros. By now they were talking, and not caring about the noise they made. Brett nodded to Danny, clearly confident of taking them by surprise, when one of them said, "Look 'ere. Those dishes in the sink. Someone's 'ere, Fred."

"I knew we should have washed up," Danny said, shaking his head.

"Did you 'ear that?" Another voice said.

"I think we've been discovered," Brett said casually, stopping at the head of the stairs. "Nothing for it but this." He pushed a button in the wall and the lights blazed on. "Now!" he cried out, running down the stairs with the water jug.

There were three burglars, one holding the box filled with Sinclair heirlooms. He dropped this and rushed Brett, raising a cosh. Brett reeled out of the way and tackled Burglar Number Two, beating him with the water jug. Burglar Number Three started up the stairs for Danny.

Danny really wished he had some pants on, but he guessed that now was not the time to call a time-out so he could get dressed. He barrelled down the stairs, swinging the candlestick, missing Burglar Number Three by a hair's breadth before Three punched him in the gut. Danny doubled over and fell forward, tumbling into Three, and they rolled down the stairs together. Three cushioned Danny's fall, and he seized the advantage to raise the candlestick, but before he could strike, his wrist was grabbed from behind. It was the first burglar lifting him up, moving in for the punch.

"Danny!" Brett called, but Danny didn't have a chance to see where he was and if he needed help. Burglar Number One had clocked him one across the jaw, and Danny spun away, bare feet sliding on the polished wood floor. He kept spinning until his back hit something solid. He turned and clutched the wall and made a grab for the nearest weapon, a crossbow.

A crossbow, especially an unarmed one, was not the most convenient weapon for a brawl with burglars, Danny decided quickly. As Burglar Number One came for him, backing him into the corner under the staircase, Danny lifted it and hit One's head with it. One staggered and fell in a heap to the floor.

"Oh, well done, Daniel," Brett said, stepping over One and draping his arm across Danny's shoulders. "Exactly how my ancestor, Sir Claude Sinclair, used it against the Roundheads in 1647."

"Where's the rest of them?" Danny asked, narrowing his eyes and pointing the bow menacingly. "Let them come. Let them come. We're ready."

"They're taken care of, my dear," Brett said, patting his arm. "Though I believe we should find some rope and secure them before we call the constables. Oh, and Danny …"

"Yeah?" Danny set the crossbow down.

"Your robe's come undone."

\---------

Fields of green whirred past under a threatening grey sky. In the passenger seat of the Aston Martin, Danny sat with his arms folded, watching the road to London disappear beneath them mile for mile. Beside him, close enough so that their shoulders touched, Brett kept his attention on the road as well, occasionally yawning.

"Never again," Danny stated for the third time.

"Daniel …"

"Tut." Danny raised a quieting hand. "I don't wanna hear it. These Sinclair country houses are jinxed."

It was true. Who knew it was safer in the Bronx than in the English countryside? Danny glared at a passing hedgerow. Probably crawling with spies and maniacs.

They had tied up the three burglars last night, making good use of stout rope and the dining room chairs. Then Danny had gone to get dressed while Brett phoned the police. By the time the constables arrived, took statements, took charge of the prisoners, and took more statements, night was disappearing into day. Brett fell asleep in the wingback chair in the study where he'd been answering the constable's questions. Danny curled up on the sofa across from him, and there they had been found by the returning Harwood in the morning.

More questions and answers, enough to satisfy Harwood's horrified curiosity while he made them a simple breakfast of eggs and ham. Then an hour Danny spent walking around the grounds with mingled regret and resentment, while Harwood trapped Brett in the study to take care of neglected estate matters. And now they were on their way back to London.

Danny had mixed feelings about their return. He loved London, and he was certainly ready to get away from country houses full of uninvited guests, ghosts, and burglars. But returning to London meant returning to their London lives: chicks, clubs, cars, and jobs for Judge Fulton. Danny couldn't see how what they'd begun in the country -- what they'd almost done in the country -- would continue in London. Couldn't see how it would fit, or, more precisely, he wasn't sure Brett, with his screwy notions of courtship, could see how it would fit. And Brett wasn't giving him any clues.

Danny managed some snappy wisecracks about the passing scenery, gradually relaxing as Brett responded in kind. By the time they reached the outer boroughs, Danny's spirits had returned. So what if things were different in London? They would still be together, in work or play, and that was fun, that was plenty. Perhaps they could find a couple of pretty birds and go out tonight. He liked going on double dates with Brett. He liked watching Brett turn up the charm to seduce Danny's date nearly as much as he liked trying to seduce Brett's date.

It was evening when Brett parked the car in front of Danny's red Ferrari, which was waiting at Brett's flat. As Danny went to put his bags in the Ferrari, Brett tapped his arm and pointed. There was a light on inside the flat.

"The judge?"

"It could be," Brett said with a short sigh. "Come on."

"As long as it's no one with a gun, trying to steal your nighties, Alice. I had enough of that in the country. I'm ready for the peace and quiet of London," Danny said, one hand on Brett's elbow as they climbed the stairs.

Although Brett flashed him a pooh-poohing look, he opened the door cautiously, letting it swing wide before taking a step and peering around. Danny let him take a few more steps before coming inside and closing the door. Brett set his suitcase down and walked through the rest of the flat. Danny wandered over to the desk, picked up a piece of paper from the blotter, and perched on the edge.

"If it's the judge," Brett said, exasperated, returning, "he's jolly good at playing hide-and-seek. I can't find him anywhere. And I even looked under the bed."

Danny flipped the piece of paper over to him, smiling. Brett scanned it. "That Magda. What a sweet girl. How thoughtful."

"It says there's a roast chicken in the fridge," Danny pointed out, tapping the paper at the relevant sentence.

"Do you like it cold or hot, Daniel?" Brett asked, striding into the kitchen and taking his apron from the hook.

"I could go either way," Danny said, following him and sliding onto a counter stool. "I'm easy."

Brett raised an eyebrow but refrained from comment, opening a cabinet and setting out some plates.

After dining on cold chicken, bread, and warm beer, Danny lounged in a chair with his feet propped on a table while Brett draped himself on the sofa and leafed through the accumulated papers. It didn't seem likely that they'd be going out tonight, and even less likely that they'd be picking up some birds. Danny supposed it was high time he went back to his own apartment.

"Well, your eminence," Danny said, dropping his feet to the floor. "I hate to leave the party so soon, but …"

"Are you leaving?" Brett sounded surprised.

Danny stood and stretched and yawned. "Into every life a little rain must fall."

"Oh."

Danny looked over. Brett carefully folded his newspaper and sat up, tossing it aside. Danny rested his hand on his hip.

"Brett. If that 'oh' is meant to keep me here, you gotta put a little more emphasis in it, you know? A little more oomph. Like, for instance, 'Oh, Danny, don't go. Stay here and take me to bed.'"

Brett graced him with an insufferable, adorable smile, standing up and slinging his arm across Danny's shoulders. "Do you really expect me to say that?"

"Maybe not," Danny allowed.

Brett rested his hand on Danny's hip and gently steered him toward the bedroom. "Do you really need me to say it?" he asked, his lips brushing against Danny's ear.

"I suppose not."

Brett's hand rubbed up and down Danny's hip. He swayed a little as he came to a stop by the bed. Brett turned him around and kissed him. Danny wrapped him in his arms and pulled him down until they bounced onto the bed together.

"Now …" Brett murmured between kisses. "What were you saying about riding?"

"Whoa, hold on there, cowboy. I've seen you on a horse. You look like you're pretty good at riding, yourself." Danny's hand found Brett's seat and patted it fondly.

"I am," Brett said mildly, gazing at him steadily with unwavering confidence and a faintly smug smile that made Danny's toes curl.

"Then, you know what?" Danny said, slightly breathless, easing Brett's shirt from his pants.

Brett unbuttoned Danny's shirt. "What?" he asked, bending to kiss Danny's exposed throat.

"I'm glad we're not in the country, 'cause I don't want any more interruptions, honey."

Brett smiled his agreement, stroking Danny's cheek with his fingertips. Danny tightened his hold and brought him into a long, slow kiss. And for the rest of the night, there were no ghosts and no burglars, just two people very much in love.

(the end)


End file.
